Hanami

Spring was late this year, April dragged on cold and freezing, and the city was drab and grey. And then, seemingly overnight, it was May and the magnolia and cherry burst forth with showy buds on bare branches. This is always a magical moment, especially for us city dwellers. Armed with picnic blankets and selfie sticks, Toronto took to the parks—it’s no Tokyo of course, not even Bon or California, but it makes us happy nonetheless.

The sakura blooming season is short—a week or two at its peak—and unlike in Japan, where it moves in a wave through the regions depending on their relative climate, here it comes in a single glorious flare of ephemeral but delightful display. A relatively recent transplant to the city, Toronto’s first real sakura trees were a gift from the Japanese ambassador in 1959, a token of appreciation for the city’s support of Japanese-Canadian refugees after WWII (and perhaps an effort to propitiate the ghosts of war and violence, both on the battle fields and at home, in the form of internment camps). Later, several more gifts of cherry trees were made by various Japanese dignitaries, symbols of friendship and connection. Most of these were planted at High Park, where they grace an entire slope leading away from Grenadier restaurent towards the pond, and where tourists and photographers decend en masse each spring.

Ever since moving to the city, I’ve both participated in the nascent tradition and observed it. It occurs to me that the sakura is an interesting choice for a gift celebrating the joy of life (as the High Park info page helpfully explains). The national flower of Japan and one of its most salient symbols, the sakura, alongside joy, symbolizes the melancholy of passing time—the all too real brevity and ephemera of human existence. Its overwhelming sentiment is the bitter-sweet, the nostalgic. In its Japanese context it coincides with a season of transitions: the start of the new school year, the traditional start date for various jobs, the end of contracts for temporary workers—a season of movement and uncertainty, but also a season of beginnings. Of wanting to stay and of letting go.

Perhaps it’s no wonder that Japanese culture delights in various rituals related to observing the seasons: hanami, or flower viewing in spring; fireworks in summer; red foliage in autumn; and forest-bathing and moon-viewing when the occasion presents itself. The aesthetic tone is always one of time passing—something is beautiful because it is impermanent.

The sakura in particular is a sensitive creature, its blooming season easily affected by weather, and its heavy blooms fall all too soon (and faster still if there is rain and wind). If it reminds us of our own mortality and fragile existence, then all the more reason to take joy in it while we can. And perhaps we can take comfort in the cyclical nature of things, in that the sakura will bloom again next year and the year following, and it will be blooming long after the we who stand here under the blossoming trees are gone.

As I observe the throngs of visitors at the park, I wonder if in time we will develop our own sakura-related traditions, adding to its already rich symbolism. At present, it is a mixture of faddish and sincere adoration, the aesthetics of it still unformed, adolescent. Unsurprisingly, this rite of spring draws crowds of seekers curating the perfect social media post, at times so aggressively that the park was prompted to post large pink signs everywhere prohibiting the climbing (!) of cherry trees, with the witty quip: “Stay off the blooming trees!” Cars stream into the park, clogging the nearby streets and turning the limited parking lots into a nightmare; the more intrepid visitors storm the park on foot, armed with cameras, outfits, babies, puppies, and props. One year I came to the park around 6:30am on a cloudy, drizzly morning... The parking was almost full, several brides shivered in the cool mist, and a dozen more professional photoshoots were in progress under the trees. We all jumped when a group of taiko drummers suddenly took to their wands and woke us right up with a rapid staccato.

But Instagram fever aside, the blooming of the sakura is also the definitive end of winter, here in Toronto. At long last, we shed our winter coats, and change into spring and summer threads; we spill unto the patios and verandas and green spaces, celebrating the end of the long spell of cold (and getting some outdoors time before the mosquitos get here); bleary from the winter, we happily blink in the bright sun. Ephemeral though they are, the blossoms signal a long awaited change of pace. Soon, they’ll be gone, but even now our eyes are already turned to summer—to late warm nights under stars and lazy afternoons, picnics, beach days, patio season.

Funny creatures we are—nostalgic in the present, grieving the past, hopeful for the future. The sakura blooms, and its beauty both heals and accentuates our shared bond with time. If we lived outside its flow, we wouldn’t crave eternity; but, perhaps, fewer things would seem as lovely.

#hanami #cherryblossoms #sakura #Toronto #arboretum #vscox #seasons #thoughts